


Last Leaf on the Tree

by doyouhearthunder



Category: Night In The Woods (Video Game)
Genre: Gen, I've been getting back into NITW in a big way lately, SPOILERS if for some reason you're reading this before you finish the game, This was supposed to just be a Halloween-themed fluff piece about the gang hanging out, and I'm pretty sure it's 100 percent because it's October, but then it got all emotional and stuff, w h o o p s
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-10
Updated: 2017-10-10
Packaged: 2019-01-15 13:41:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,337
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12322185
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/doyouhearthunder/pseuds/doyouhearthunder
Summary: When fall comes to Possum Springs and brings with it reminders of past traumas, Mae finds comfort in the memories of happier autumns.





	Last Leaf on the Tree

If the four seasons, taken together, formed the entire life cycle of a year, then fall was a time of dying.

In the winter the world was dead and sleeping, buried under snow; it was a time of short days and Longest Nights, a time for warm fireplaces and cozy sweaters and the promise of rejuvenation in the months to come.  Spring was a time of rebirth, when the flowers bloomed and the birds returned and the world woke up and remembered what it was to live.  And summer…summer was always a time for living; life peaked in the summertime, when school was out and the world felt brighter and more vibrant.  Everything was heightened in the summer; it was a time for hot blood in your veins and hot sun on your face and adventure in your heart.  But inevitably, summer always wound down and became fall, and fall was a time of dying.  Fall meant decay; trees turning slowly to skeletons, their leaves drifting sadly through the air and rotting like forgotten corpses in the gutters of the street, moving only when shifted by the currents of a breeze that was becoming crisp and cold.

It took a long time and many autumns before Mae felt at ease in the fall again.

The season hadn’t always held such morbid associations for her; there had been a time when fall had meant only Harfest and Halloween, and Harfest meant only fun and not the queasy feeling she got in her stomach when she remembered the sight of a ghost-like figure snatching a kid from the shadows.  There had been a time when she could get within 100 feet of the woods at the edge of town without breaking into a cold sweat.  There had been a time when she thought the bright oranges and reds of the leaves were pretty and she enjoyed the crisp smell in the air.  Now the colors reminded her of a lamp at the bottom of a mine, casting red light like blood on the thick coats and hoods of dark figures, and all she could smell was the rot.

There was a lot of decay in Possum Springs these days, time and gravity leading the town further and further downwards on an economic arc set in motion long ago.  You could see it in the boarded-up windows and the downtrodden expressions of the populace.  They were still holding on, but they were all settling in for another winter, and it seemed that the winters, like the nights, were only getting longer.  And there was still that rot in the center of everything, deep in a forgotten hole underground in what was once the town’s heart.  It was sleeping now, dormant for the time being (Mae could tell because her dreams had been normal; she no longer heard that thing calling to her when she slept), but one day it would be hungry again.  That kind of rot didn’t come and go with the seasons, even with it and the instruments of its will buried and entombed; it was there before them and it would likely still be there long after all of them were gone.  Mae had made her peace with that.

Because despite the impending challenges of winter, she knew that every year, like clockwork, spring eventually came.  There was always the hope of restoration for cold, dead things.  One day, Mae hoped, she would enjoy the fall again.  And until that day, she still had memories of happier autumns.  Sometimes the memories felt like distant remnants of another life, but she clung to them stubbornly, because she knew their value.  When the world around her began its yearly cycle of decay, and reminders of past traumas began to intrude on her thoughts, it was the memories of years long gone that kept her warm, even after the last leaf on the tree was blown away by the winter wind.

 

\---

 

“Come on, Gregg, just admit that you got us lost.”

“We’re not lost, Mae, we’re having an _adventure_.”

Mae’s mouth twisted into a disgruntled pout and she hugged her chest, rubbing her forearms to warm them up.  The October air was crisp and chill, and the shadows were deep and dark; the moon was obscured behind the clouds that hung heavily in the sky.  There was a light mist of rain in the air, just enough to cling irritatingly to her fur.  She really should have checked the weather forecast; she hadn’t even brought a coat, and this was not the best night to be trudging around in a ‘haunted’ corn maze.  But here they were; it had been Gregg’s idea, and when Gregg got fixated on a plan it was hard to talk him out of it…or to say no to being dragged along with him.

“A lame adventure.”  She glanced at Casey, hoping he would back her up.  He was strolling along with his hands in his pockets, exuding his usual cool.  He wore a neutral expression and seemed completely unbothered by the fact that they had been wandering around aimlessly for almost an hour and had lost all sense of direction amidst the thick rows of tall, dark cornstalks.  Unlike Gregg, who was leading the gang with an enthusiasm that neither rain nor cold nor dark of night could dampen, it was difficult for Mae to determine whether Casey was actually enjoying himself or not.  He just went with the flow.

“To be fair,” Casey observed casually, “getting lost is usually like 90% of most adventures.”

“Yeah, that’s right!” Gregg cheerfully agreed.  “It’s a _maze_!  Getting lost in it is what it’s _for_!”

“Ughhh.  I’m cold and hungry.  We’re never gonna get out of here.  It’s all over for us.  We’re gonna wander this corn maze ‘til we die.”

“Mae’s just cranky ‘cause she’s embarrassed about freaking out when that chainsaw guy jumped out at us,” Gregg said, grinning playfully.

“Am not!  You were more scared than I was!”

“You both shrieked like little girls,” Casey confirmed.  “It was hilarious.”

“Well look at Hartley the Brave over here,” Mae teased.  Her tone was gradually becoming less sulky and more amused.  “Guy jumps out of the corn with a sack on his head, revving a freaking chainsaw, and does Casey Hartley scream and run away like, I don’t know, _any reasonable person_ would?  No!  He’s so big and tough, nothing scares him!”

"You know it,” Casey said calmly.  In the shadows Mae could just barely see a little grin tugging at the corners of his mouth.

 

They walked in silence for a time, Gregg in the lead.  Whenever they reached a fork in the path, he picked a direction seemingly at random and plunged confidently on ahead.

Mae adopted an exaggerated whine.  “Are we _there yet_?”

“Don’t make me turn this car around.”

“Gregg,” she complained, “do you even know where you’re going?”

“Do any of us?” Casey interjected philosophically.

Gregg laughed.  “Too real, dude.”

“No, but seriously,” she said.  “How the heck do we get out of here?”

“You just gotta trust my process, Mae.  I’m working on it!”

“Gregg, if we get stuck in here so long that we have to resort to cannibalism, I’m eating you first.”

“Nah, dude,” Gregg said with exaggerated seriousness.  “We won’t starve.  We can eat _corn_.”

She had to admit, that almost got a laugh out of her.  There was certainly quite a lot of corn, should the need arise.  “I don’t know if it’s possible to survive on corn alone,” she pointed out.

“I’ve survived worse single-item diets,” Gregg replied stubbornly.

Casey laughed.  “Dude, sometimes I’m not sure how you’re still alive, the shit you eat.”

“My body is 90% sugar.”

“Hey Mae, remember the time Gregg here mixed like three different sodas together in one bottle, put a bunch of candy in it, poured goddamn chocolate sauce in there and then chugged the whole unholy mixture?”

Gregg threw his fists up in the air.  “The Drink of the Gods!”

“You puked it all up like five minutes later.”

“OF THE GODS!!!”

Mae’s stomach gave an audible rumble.  “Not even that story can make me lose my appetite right now,” she said forlornly.

“Oh, hey, almost forgot,” Casey said.  He rummaged around for a moment in the pocket of his jacket.  When his hand emerged, it was holding a large chocolate bar, which he held out to Mae.  “Want some?”

Her ears perked up immediately and she snatched the candy from him, staring at it like it was made out of gold.  “Holy shit, dude.  Thank you!”

“No prob.”  He reached into his pocket again and produced another chocolate bar for himself.  “I came prepared.”

She tilted her head to one side questioningly.  “How much chocolate do you _have_?”

Casey smiled as he tore the wrapping off the chocolate bar.  “Enough.”

“Casey hordes candy like the world’s gonna end,” Gregg cut in.  “Hey, Casey, where’s _my_ chocolate bar?”

“You can have one when you get us out of this maze.”

“What am I, a lab rat?”

Mae was still squinting suspiciously at the magic candy-filled pocket of Casey’s jacket.  “So, like, just so we’re clear…do you _always_ carry candy on your person?”

“Well yeah,” Casey said through a mouthful of chocolate.  “It’s October.”

Mae chewed on her own chocolate bar, immediately feeling in better spirits.  It was amazing how much chocolate improved any situation.  Thank god for Casey and his candy-hording ways; she could always count on him to come through for her.

 

They continued on through the winding paths of the maze.  It had been a while since they had come across any other wandering thrill-seekers that evening; she supposed that most other people had been turned off by the cold and damp.  Once or twice they heard sudden screams of frightened exhilaration from the distance, but it was hard to tell how far away they were; the corn had a way of absorbing the sound.  Mae kept a watchful eye on the shadows just inside the cornstalks as they passed by, in case another scare actor was waiting to jump out at them.  She wouldn’t admit it in front of Gregg and Casey, but she _was_ a little embarrassed by her reaction to the chainsaw guy (read: pure panic).  It had taken a long time for her heart rate to return to normal after that.  She was way too much of a wimp for this sort of thing.

“Hey, hold up, dudes.”

She and Casey halted abruptly.  They had reached another fork in the path, but this time there was a signpost in the ground in front of it.  For a moment Mae thought it must be pointing the way to the exit, but no such luck: the post held two signs, pointing towards the two split paths.  The one pointing left read “TERROR” and the one pointing right read “HORROR.”

“Well folks,” Gregg said, “looks like it’s decision-making time.  Would you guys prefer to be horrored or terrored?”

“Ugh,” Mae scowled.  “I’ve been horrored enough for one night, thanks.”

Casey shrugged. “I could go for a little terror, I guess."

“Terror it is, then!”  Gregg set off boldly down the path to the left, seeming quite undaunted by the promise of terror.  He was having fun, and as much as Mae would have preferred to hurry up and find their way out of this place, she enjoyed seeing Gregg enjoying himself.  His enthusiasm was practically contagious; if she wasn’t careful she might even end up enjoying the experience herself.

They had only been walking for a couple of minutes when they reached what appeared at first glance to be a dead end.  Upon closer inspection, however, the wall of corn in front of them was not unbroken; it contained a passageway, a narrow tunnel cut through the corn, barely wide enough to admit a single person at a time.  In the shadows of the evening gloom it was difficult to tell exactly how deep the passage was.  Posted next to it was a sign that read, in scratchy red lettering, “Tunnel of TERROR.”

“Well,” she deadpanned, “that’s not ominous at all.”

“Truly,” Gregg riffed, “this can only bode well.”

Casey nodded.  “I have nothing but good feelings about this.”

For a long moment they just stood there staring at the none-too-inviting entrance, none of them eager to be the first to set foot into it.

“Welp,” Gregg said finally, pushing Mae towards the hole in the wall of corn, “after you, dude!”

“What?!” She stepped hurriedly away from the foreboding entrance.  “No no no, you’re the expert navigator, man.  By all means, lead the way.”

“Come on, Mae, don’t be scared!  Remember: we are the scariest things in this place.  Those monsters and chainsaw killers ought to be running away from _us_.”

“I’m not scared,” Mae lied.  “Just being polite.”  She gestured with a sweep of her arm for Gregg to go ahead of her.

“The rules of polite say ladies first,” he pointed out.

“Gregg.  Buddy.” She tilted her head to the side and bared her teeth in a creepy, pointed grin.  “Do I look like a _lady_ to you?”

“Hey, all I’m saying is –”

“Y’all are weak,” Casey said as he casually pushed past them and, without hesitation, entered the “Tunnel of TERROR.”

“Casey!” Mae shouted after him, but he was already disappearing into the passage.

Mae and Gregg shot each other a look, conveying in an unspoken glance that they were both thinking the same thing: if Casey could do it, no way were they letting him upstage them.

With no further ado, Mae headed in after Casey (she didn’t want to go last any more than she wanted to go first; she’d take the middle spot, safely between her boys).  It was dark inside the passage, the light swallowed up by the corn, but she could make out Casey’s outline ahead of her.  She jogged up to him and, without speaking, took his hand.  He gave it a squeeze, and they proceeded like that, walking single file but holding hands, with Gregg close behind.

It took less time than it felt like for them to make it through the tunnel, and although Mae held her breath the entire time, they encountered nothing more terrifying than a mild case of claustrophobia.  It was when they saw what was waiting on the other side that Mae’s heart skipped a beat.

They were in a large round clearing, and in the center of it was a row of freshly-dug graves.  The grave at the end of the row was in-progress: a large man dressed in overalls and a plaid shirt was bent over the hole with a shovel, scooping dirt out of the ground.  Beyond him, on the far side of the clearing, was a path leading onward into the corn.  Lying prone on the ground beside him was a pale body in blood-stained clothes.

 _It’s just an actor_ , Mae thought, though her heart rate had accelerated and her grip on Casey’s hand had noticeably tightened as the three of them stood there staring at the frightening tableau.  _Just an ordinary dude paid to wait around here in the dark and try to scare us.  The graves are just for effect, that body’s just a prop._   Most of her believed it.

The figure froze as if sensing their presence, straightened up, and turned to face them.  His face (or was it a mask; she couldn’t tell) looked like an ordinary wolf, but the expression was grotesque; a slavering red mouth in a toothy grin, and cold, dark eyes, and suddenly the part of her brain that traded in rational explanation fled, leaving fear and panic to take the wheel.  Every part of her wanted to turn tail and run.

“Oh fuck, dudes,” Gregg breathed, and she knew he was having a similar reaction.

The wolf suddenly lunged forwards towards them and they screamed, scattering just before he reached them.  Gregg darted to the left while Mae, still clutching Casey’s hand, was dragged along after him as he sprinted away.

Mae glanced back as she ran: the wolf had chosen to pursue Gregg, and Gregg was leading him away around the curve of the clearing’s edge, leaving them free to sprint across and reach the path on the other side.

They had just gotten to the graves when the corpse, which Mae had mistaken for a prop, sprung to its feet, laughing and flailing its arms at them, a demented grin on its bloodied face.

For a moment, Mae’s brain froze.  She had no idea what to do; she was still being pulled along by Casey in their panicked dash for safety, and the monster was right in front of them, they were headed right for it and there was no time to change course, but if they stopped their momentum, if they slowed down, it would surely catch them.

And then Casey, his fight-or-flight instincts no doubt kicking in, made a choice.  Without slowing, he flung out his free hand in a fist as they charged towards the monster suddenly blocking their path, and decked it in the face.

“AAGHH!”

The zombie (person?) crumpled to the ground, clutching its face, and Mae had just enough time to wonder if they had made a terrible mistake before they darted past the row of holes in the ground and sprinted towards the exit.  Gregg caught up with them as they reached it, running faster than seemed possible for a guy with such short legs.  He needn't have bothered; the wolf man had halted the chase and run over to his fellow monster lying moaning on the ground.

Mae, Gregg and Casey didn’t notice this.  They didn’t see the wolf man removing his mask and bending over his coworker in concern, they didn’t see the zombie holding his hand over his makeup-covered face, wincing in pain and complaining that he was probably gonna have a black eye, and they definitely weren’t privy to the two scare actors commiserating about not being paid enough to risk getting assaulted by panicked teenagers who knew what they were frickin’ signing up for but still couldn’t keep their damn heads under pressure.  They were already gone, down the path and around the bend, alone once more amidst the corn.

 

Mae’s memory was hazy after that; she remembered them stopping, panting from exertion as the adrenaline left their bodies and they caught their breaths.  She remembered Casey looking at her and asking “Shit, did I just beat up a zombie?” with guilt and embarrassment in his voice, and she remembered not knowing whether to laugh or feel bad.  She remembered teasing him that it was sweet that he had protected her from the monsters, and she remembered him blushing and looking away, mumbling that he had been protecting himself, too…

Eventually they had found the exit and escaped the stressful confines of the maze.  Once they were out in the open again their fear and panicked reactions had quickly begun to seem silly and embarrassing, and there had been much joking and teasing about how they could have let themselves get so freaked out by a couple dudes in masks and make up who, after all, were only _pretending_ to be dangerous.  But the humor came mostly from Gregg, who started calling Casey “Zombie Slayer” (a joke that lasted almost a week before he retired it).  Casey played it cool and laughed it all off, but Mae knew him too well not to notice that he was bothered by it.  His discomfort was obvious, at least to her, in his hesitant, sheepish smiles and the way he glanced away when the subject of the zombie-punching came up; she knew all his tells.  She liked that about Casey, though; he could be tough, even forceful, when he needed to be, but he didn’t _like_ to be.  He could write it off as panic, fight-or-flight, self-defense, all of that, but when you got down to it she knew Casey didn’t like the thought that he had hurt someone who didn’t deserve it.  Mae could relate to that.  She could relate to that all too well.

 

On the bus ride back into town, while Gregg napped with his head propped against the window (his manic energy having fled, leaving him suddenly exhausted), Mae noticed Casey seemed unusually distant.  He was sitting between her and Gregg in the back of the nearly-empty bus, staring down at his hands in his lap, a faraway look in his green eyes.

“You okay, man?”

“Huh?”  He looked up, as if suddenly noticing where he was.  “Oh…uh, yeah, yeah I’m fine, Mae.”

“You don’t look fine.”

Casey said nothing, avoiding her eyes.

“It’s not your fault, you know,” she pressed gently.

He inhaled sharply, straightening his back, and let it out as a long, quiet sigh.  “Yeah.  I know.  It’s just…I keep thinking about how that dude yelled when I hit him.  Do you think he was okay?  We should have gone back and apologized or something.”

“It was just one punch, I’m pretty sure he’ll be fine."

“Yeah, I guess you’re right.”

“Hey,” she said, giving him a little nudge on the shoulder.  “Don’t feel bad.  It’s not like you put him in the hospital or anything.”

He finally looked at her, his green eyes meeting her red ones, making eye contact the way he always did when he was about to ask something serious.  She could see the concern in them and could sense the question coming.  “Do you still feel guilty about that sometimes?”

“Of course I do.  I think about it every day.  Even though, you know, it’s been two years, and Andy is okay now.  I still feel awful about it.”  It was the truth.  With anyone else she might have pretended she was past it, but she couldn’t lie to Casey.  Casey deserved her honesty.  “I can tell everyone still hates me for it, too.  You and Gregg are the only people at school who don’t avoid me, who don’t look at me like I’m crazy.  Everyone else still whispers about me behind my back.  They think I don’t notice, but I do.”

“Screw them,” Casey said emphatically.  “Who cares what they think?”

“I kinda do care, though.  ‘Cause like, I don’t want that to be my reputation forever, you know?  I don’t want everyone to grow up and graduate school and go off wherever to live their lives, and occasionally they’ll pull out their yearbooks to like, reminisce and stuff, and when they get to my picture they’ll think “Oh yeah, Mae ‘Killer’ Borowski.  What a weirdo.  Wonder what she’s doing now?  Bet she’s been arrested for assault or something.”  And like, that’s the only way those people will remember me, when they think of me at all.  Part of me will always just be ‘Killer,’ and like, I’ll never be able to get rid of that.”

She didn’t know where all of this was coming from; she hadn’t meant to get into it.  But Casey was looking at her attentively, hanging on every word, and that made her feel better, like he was legitimizing her feelings without even trying.  That was another thing she liked about Casey; he knew how to listen.

“Can I tell you something?” he asked, once she was finished.

“Yeah, of course you can.”

“People don’t like me, either.”

“Whaaaat?  But you’re like, really popular!  Everyone thinks you’re cool.”

He shook his head.  “Thinking I’m cool isn’t the same as liking me.  Even wanting to be around me isn’t the same as liking me.  The people at school don’t actually know me, or respect me.  I could disappear tomorrow and they’d be like “Oh, too bad, I could always bum a cigarette off him,” or “That’s a shame, he was always fun to hang out with,” but none of them would actually, like, _care_.  And the adults wouldn’t care a bit, that’s for sure.  They look at me and think “Just another fuck-up kid from a family too big and too poor to keep him from acting out.  I’m glad _my_ kid didn’t end up like that.””

“You’re not a fuck-up,” Mae said, because she didn’t know what else to say.

Casey smiled gently.  “And you’re not a killer.  We know that about each other, but good luck trying to convince the rest of the world.”  He sighed.  “Look, here’s the point though.  When I say “Screw what they think,” what I mean is, really, _screw what they think._ ‘Cause what matters in the end isn’t who other people think you are, it’s who you actually are.”

“Well,” Mae said, “even if it doesn’t matter, I for one think you’re really great.”

He laughed warmly.  “I didn’t mean that I don’t care about _anyone’s_ opinion.  That actually matters a lot.  Thanks, Mae.”

“Y’welcome,” she said, stifling a yawn mid-sentence.  It had been a long day, and all the excitement had left her worn out; like Gregg, still passed out next to them, she was beginning to feel the energy leaving her.  She snuggled up against Casey, resting her head on his shoulder, and he put his arm around her.

“For the record,” he said softly, “I think you’re really great, too.”

She pressed her face into the warmth of his shoulder, where he couldn’t see the stupid smile spreading across it, or the flush of her cheeks.

They stayed that way, close to each other, as the bus wound its way down the country roads, carrying them away from the night’s adventures and back towards the warm, familiar comfort of home.  When they reached Casey’s stop, and had to part ways, Mae found that letting go of him was harder than she expected.  He gave her a squeeze before detaching from her and standing up, and a wave and a smile as he got off the bus.  But she could have stayed in that moment for a lot longer.

She had never liked having to say goodbye to Casey.  And she’d said goodbye to him far more times than she should ever have had to.

 

\---

 

They never went back to the Pine Acres Farm corn maze after that year; perhaps because there was a bit of lingering embarrassment there about their zombie-punching conduct, perhaps because they felt the experience could never live up to the first time, or perhaps because just two Octobers later Mae was gone, off at college and spending the Halloween season far away from old haunts and familiar faces.  But Mae held on to the memory of that night; it was a nice memory, but hindsight also gave it a significance that it never originally held, a bittersweet ache that all her memories of Casey now produced in her.  She liked remembering him that way; as someone brave and strong but thoughtful, someone who shared candy bars with her and held her hand when she was scared, someone who didn’t hesitate to punch zombies to defend her, but felt guilty about it later.  She wondered whether he had fought back when the real monsters came for him, if he had given any of them black eyes or knocked their teeth out, if he had resisted them until the very last moment.  She hoped so.  She hoped that he had scratched and punched and kicked and bitten them every step of the way.  Casey hadn’t really been a violent person, he hadn’t liked hurting people, but those people had deserved to be hurt, and she hoped that he had made it hard for them; that he had made them bleed, that killing him had cost them something, that he had left scars to remind them of their sins.  Killing Casey Hartley couldn’t, _shouldn’t_ have been easy.

He hadn’t died in the fall; as far as Mae knew, he had died on June 27th.  That was the date on the missing posters his family made, right after the words “Last seen,” and she assumed (and hoped…god, she hoped for so many things that she would never know for certain) that his abductors would have done their work quickly, that same day.  But she didn’t mourn him in June; she always mourned him in October.  October was when the memories started returning, slinking back into her head and settling there, like she had retreated back to Possum Springs in the fall of 2017.  The year of the ghost hunt, the year of the horror in the mines, the year she had learned what happened to Casey Hartley. 

In many ways he _had_ died in the fall, at least for her, because before then, in those last few months she spent at college and those first few weeks she spent back in Possum Springs, he had still been alive in the blissfully unaware world of her imagination.  She’d be lying if she said that the thought of seeing him again hadn’t factored in her decision to come home.  She had never admitted to Gregg, Angus and Bea just how crushed she’d been when they told her that he was gone; she’d had a dream that night where she was chasing a train, a train that she knew Casey was on, running after it and shouting for him as it outpaced her and grew smaller and smaller in the distance.  She’d woken up in the middle of the night and cried, and at the time she hadn’t understood the real reason why.  At the time she still thought that he was out there somewhere.  But she thought that maybe, looking back on it, some part of her had known that she was never going to see him again.

Casey had been prominent in the fond memories that she had clung to back at college when she felt like she was falling apart, and he was still a prominent figure in her memories now, only now those memories were tinged with equal parts fondness and heartbreak.  They still held her together, though; you couldn’t stitch up a wound without piercing the skin.  There was no healing without pain.

One day she would enjoy the fall again.  But for now it was a time of dying, and a time of mourning; a time to be survived, so that she could endure through the winter and see the springs that Casey never would.  Fear was no longer something to be played at and sought after for thrills and fun, and she had lost her appetite for ghosts and skeletons and zombies; death was far from an abstract concept for her, and she knew that the dead did not come back.  The leaves were falling, falling from the trees and rotting in the gutters, and she didn’t want to think about falling, she didn’t want to think about dying alone and forgotten, but it was there everywhere she looked, it was in the season’s very goddamn _name_ for god’s sake, there was no escaping it, not until that last leaf on the tree was blown away.  She would carry those thoughts with her every day, until one day all her leaves, and all the leaves she had ever known, would be blown away.  That was what truly terrified her now.  The inevitability of it.

Things would be easier when springtime came.  When the sun came back from its long, cloudy hibernation and the warmth returned to the world, it would be easier to hope again…even if it would always hurt.  It would be easier to focus on what she had, instead of what she’d lost.  She still had Gregg.  She had Bea again now, and she had Angus.  She had her family.

And she had the memories.  Always those.

You could kill Casey Hartley, but you can’t kill his memory.  Not while Mae Borowski still lives.

Not while there are still leaves on the tree.

**Author's Note:**

> Me: "Okay your last NITW fic was pretty sad, let’s just write a fluffy, happy one this time, just the characters hanging out and cracking wise and having fun spooky Halloween times."
> 
> Also me: "Don’t forget to make it sad though."
> 
> Happy Harfest! I swear I didn't mean this one to end up as another emotional Casey-centric fic, I just...I just love him so much.  
> Hope you enjoyed it! Feedback in the comments is welcome & appreciated. Thanks for reading. <3


End file.
